


Of Blood and Urchins

by Elsinore_and_Inverness



Category: Discworld
Genre: #Drug Use, #Humor, #Interior Decorating, #Politics, #Sea Urchins, #Uberwald, #Vetinari as Patrician in The Color of Magic, #Young Vetinari, #mind control, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23842816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsinore_and_Inverness/pseuds/Elsinore_and_Inverness
Summary: “This is where I’d say something like ‘we’re not so different, you and I,’ if I were a... ridiculous person.”“I think you might be.”“Different or ridiculous?”“Both.” Lady Margolotta said.
Relationships: Lady Margolotta & Havelock Vetinari
Kudos: 16





	Of Blood and Urchins

Lady Margolotta was trying to give up human blood. She had been trying for several years. Nothing really satisfied like human blood. These days she tried to make sure it was consensual and the mind-controlling effects had time to wear off afterwards. It was more or less sustainable, but it wasn’t what she wanted. 

Havelock Vetinari was spending the week in Überwald. He and a number of classmates from the Assassins Guild had arrived by coach a couple days ago. 

Havelock was exploring Bonk’s high street with a full purse. The sparkliest store on the street was the chocolatier. He was fond of chocolate, at least when he was relaxed enough to eat properly. He went inside the sparkly store and took in the towering displays of cocoa-dusted jewel-toned chocolates. The air smelled like a concerto written for viola d’amore. Warm and still and sugary. 

In the back of the store his eye was caught by a row of shiny packages. They weren’t chocolate and they weren’t on display. It was like they were tucked away for people who knew what they were looking for. 

Candied sea urchins.

He was intrigued by the price—nearly a hundred crowns—and the flimsy packaging, and how far they were from the sea. 

Havelock took a couple of the packages up to the counter and payed. He walked out onto the street just as night was falling—just as the day was beginning for many of Überwald’s residents. 

Havelock opened the bag, and took out one of the crystallized orange lumps and put it in his mouth. The candy on the outside melted on his tongue. He bit into it experimentally. The candy crackled giving way to a soft interior. The cascade of flavor that hit his mouth was like someone had found the balance point between toffee, foie gras, oysters and caviar. The texture was perfect, crisp, delicate and buttery all at once. He closed his eyes. It tasted like music. Like something written for cello, deep and sweet. It was quite possibly the first physical experience he would describe as euphoric. 

He quickly took another. 

Feeling happy and confident he set out looking for one of the famous underground clubs. He’d dressed for the occasion. Typical Assassin’s regalia. They ought to let him in. 

He found a place at the bar and ordered something with vodka and ginger beer. 

The music was loud, monotonous, off-key and very easy to tune out. He continued to work his way through the bag of candied seafood. 

Someone sat down beside him. They were vaguely middle-aged, dressed androgynously, a blazer over a sweater and had wavy dark brown hair cropped short. They looked worldly and fascinating and smiled in a way that said “I know more than you do. I have more experience. And also fangs.” He found himself staring.

“I am Lady Margolotta.”

“Oh.”

“Is something vrong?”

“No. Not at all. It’s... nothing, really.”

“You are the von... responsible... for the death of Lord Vinder, are you not?”

“Yes, your ladyship.”

She looked at him appraisingly. He wore black velvet with black metal buttons. Even in the underground club you could feel it absorbing light. Too dark for night in a city. Just right for an assassin who wanted to be seen. He looked like a vain young man. Or nearly. A truly vain young man would make sure there were two or three strands of hair rakishly escaping from his ponytail and his clothes would fit well because he’d had them tailored, not because a robemaker had given him a gig as a fit model. 

“I can’t see how you did it,” she said, finally.

The young man flashed a lightning smile. “Good.”

“Vut brings you to Überwald?”

“Grand Sneer. Bonk is not a bad party town.”

“I can’t help but note that you do not seem to be... partying.”

Margolotta looked around the room. Werewolves and dwarves were dancing under multicolored lights, diplomatically staying out of each other’s way. 

Havelock put another piece of sea urchin in his mouth. “Mmm stuhduhcluhsuhduhsuh.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Sorry.” Havelock wiped his mouth with the back of his hand like an apologetic cat. “Studying classical dance.”

“Ah. Letting go of discipline is a problem.”

“I don’t suppose I could come up to your castle tonight?”

“Is that a flirtation?”

Havelock frowned. He hesitated. “I’m genuinely not sure.”

They walked up the road toward her castle. Havelock found himself wishing he had a cane to swing like a ridiculous person on the way back from the opera. 

She showed him upstairs to her study with a desk like a monolith and he had to restrain himself from the urge to spend his first twenty minutes in the room staring at the bookshelves. 

Lady Margolotta poured herself a measure of cow’s blood. 

“That’s not human,” Vetinari observed.

“Drinking blood is a habit... to some degree a chemical addiction, yes, but I find it’s mostly about having power over someone.” 

“They’re enthralled.”

“Literally. It seems like the worst way to have power over people.”

“Why do you want power over people?”

“Habit.” 

“It seems to me that _control_ is much more fun. Letting people make their own choices, while setting them up to make what you want happen.”

“Controlling yourself is the hard part. Achieving restraint and discipline.”

Havelock looked at her with the cold authority of one for whom “so sharp you could cut yourself” meant “far too clever too get through life unscathed even if no one else was doing the scathing.” “Sometimes. Other times it is all too easy.”

“You have big plans,” Margolotta observed.

“Before the decade is out I’ll be Patrician of Ankh-Morpork.”

“Even by vampire standards that is a long game.”

“People do not like change, Lady Margolotta.”

“Please call me Margot.”

“There are two ways to accomplish change without it feeling like change. The first is to do it so quickly that things just go from one state to another. From one status quo to a new status quo. The other is to do it so slowly that _no one notices_.”

Lady Margolotta picked up her glasses from the desk and perched them on her nose. “After three hundred years I see I still have much to learn. For instance, why you think it makes sense for you to lecture a vampire.”

“Is that a threat?”

Lady Margolotta hesitated. “I am genuinely not sure.”

Havelock shrugged. “It doesn’t do me any harm for you to know what I’m about.”

“Do you _vant_ to be Patrician?”

“A good question, but functionally immaterial.”

“It certainly is not.”

“Do you _want_ to be the most powerful vampire in Überwald?”

“Ah.”

“This is where I’d say something like ‘we’re not so different, you and I,’ if I were a... ridiculous person.”

“I think you might be.”

“Different or ridiculous?”

“Both.” Lady Margolotta said. The boy really was painfully young and painfully human. If you looked closely you could see very faint acne and freckles battling for territory across his nose.

“If you don’t mind me saying—“ Everything around Havelock seemed to be becoming brighter and more intense and he found he was staring straight ahead. It just so happened that there is a compound in sea urchins that is very similar to certain recreational drugs. The dark, baroque furnishings seemed to be throbbing.

“The decor in here is far too... congruous. Too fairytale. You should mix it up a bit. Keep people guessing.” He sprawled across a two-hundred year old chaise lounge. “Like this? This would look good in gingham.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I’m going to have a lot of light wood when I’m Patrician. Birch and beech and... stuff... I say, my stomach is hurting quite a lot.”

Lady Margolotta looked at the crinkly package on the table. It was still mostly full. “Oh dear. They must be quite strong.”

“That’s the second bag,” he said, slightly embarrassed.

“Or maybe you just have a ridiculously high drug tolerance.”

“Runs in the family, baby.” Havelock lay back and looked at the ceiling which seemed to be swimming around and re-arranging itself. “At least if they’re depressants. Two cups of coffee and I’m crawling under my desk trying to remember how to breathe slowly and stop my heart trying to escape.”

He gave her an odd look. “I‘ve always wondered what it was like to be bitten by a vampire. I’ve heard you’re very committed to ethical practices.”

“I’ve told you I’m trying to quit,” she sounded more annoyed than angry. She would have been angry if his blood smelled appetizing, but it didn’t. “And you’re under the influence.”

“I’m totally not under the influence.”

“You’ve just used the vord ‘totally’ and ‘baby.’”

“Perfect fine words to use.”

“Beside, you’re vut? Sixteen?”

Havelock looked offended. Yes, he’d hit puberty late and he would probably be described as a gawky forever, but he was an adult, godsdamn it. “I’m nineteen.”

“I’m four hundred and three. I’ve killed humans.”

“So have I.”

“I’m not biting you.”

Havelock tilted his chin back and yanked the ribbon in his hair so he would look more disheveled and interesting. Of course, this also meant that his hair was covering his neck. 

Even through the hair, Margolotta could see the long veins that stood out from how he was tilting his head back. She lightly lay her fingertips on his skin. Not dehydrated, strong pulse, relaxed—well, that much sea urchin would do that. 

“Do it,” he hissed.

“It’s going to make you pass out.”

“Good.”

“You’re not vorried about being unconscious in a strange vampire’s palace? Think of your bright future ruling Ankh-Morpork.”

“You’re thinking about it. I can enjoy the ride.”

Would Havelock have respected Margolotta more if she had refused? He knew he would have respected himself more if he hadn’t tempted her. 

She licked his neck clinically and it was all Havelock could do to avoid thinking of his aunt cleaning his face with spit. He managed it through a great feat of effort. He was here for the chemicals. It was scientific. No it wasn’t. He was doing something wrong and that was why he doing it. For the thrill of feeling bad about it. 

Margolotta’s teeth entered smoothly and gave their involuntary injection of mind-controlling venom. Havelock closed his eyes. 

She could taste the sea urchin in his blood. Cannabinoids have the same half-life in the blood stream even if his brain got rid of them faster. She could also taste the base flavor of his blood. It was too clean. It was the blood of someone who ate the more colorful half of whatever the Assassin’s Guild handed him and it was really not very interesting. Bored, she let go of his neck and licked to wound again to stop the bleeding. 

He blinked at her. “Does this mean I have to do what you say, now?”

“I vas hoping you’d pass out.”

Not an order. A statement. Havelock put his head on one side. 

“I’m not going to tell you what to do.”

Havelock tied his hair back up to keep it out of the sticky wound. “This is getting much less interesting very quickly.”

Margolotta folded over the top of the crinkly package of candied sea urchins. “Quite an expensive habit. Do you know what part of a sea urchin these are made from?”

“I can guess.”

“You’ll look the part by the time you’re Patrician.”

Vetinari paused in rearranging his hair. Was that an order? A glimpse into the future? Vampires could do that. They lived a bit closer to the edge of reality. “That’s not a very kind thing to say.”

Margolotta closed her eyes and looked at the Vetinari of eleven years from now. She recognized two of the rings he was wearing. One was a chunk of pale amethyst cut to look like a flower. It had been made for her mother by the Low King as a housewarming gift when the palace was build. She suspected it meant something else to Vetinari. The other had an Ephebian Lambda carved onto it. She’d been handed that one in a bookstore in Ankh-Morpork. 

Margolotta opened a drawer in her desk and handed them to him. “You vere vearing these.”

He tried both of the rings on the thumb of his right hand. They slid off. “Which fingers was I wearing them on?” 

Margolotta didn’t say anything. 

“Oh gods.”

“Don’t vorry about it,” she said. And so, of course, he didn’t.

“Tell me about politics,” she said hungrily.

“People care more about what other people think of them than they care about the truth. The trick isn’t to convince them that they’re wrong, but that all their friends think they’re wrong. That’s sixty percent of politics, right there.”

“I’m sure some people care about the truth.”

“Individual people, sure, but you have to look at the system. Sometimes the lies people tell themselves are useful.”

“That’s quite hard to think about as a vampire, ve’re rather... pedantic people.”

“Yes. But knowing when to keep your mouth shut can be as much of a thrill as tearing someone’s argument to shreds.”

“You’re in it for the thrill?” 

Havelock’s venom-influenced brain short circuited a bit. A statement with a question mark at the end? He persevered by picking another axiom.

“To make things better you have to be a bit of a cold, unfeeling bastard.” 

“Do you really?”

“I mean you have to keep choosing the whole over its component parts.”

“Can’t you choose both?”

“I’m not sure I’m wired to choose both.”

“I think you can learn.” Margolotta smiled.

“Überwald is a very piecemeal kind of place, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes.”

“You have to focus on things individually.”

“You’re a quick study, Vetinari.”

“Tell me to do something I’ve never done before.”

“I’ve got some socks that need darning.” Of course she did. Lady Margolotta was the kind of person who would hang onto clothes for epochs.

To his credit, the only reason Vetinari had never darned a sock was because his feet had stopped growing very recently. “Let me at them.”

Yes. This was going to be a very informative week. 


End file.
